


Terrible Mistakes

by ViviL



Category: New Girl
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:19:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViviL/pseuds/ViviL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is this a terrible mistake?" he whispers into her fruit scented hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He can't get it out of his head.

It had happened three nights ago and since then it's taunted him night and day, making his life an even more miserable existence.

He had kissed _her._

He had pulled her to him, without any care for boyfriends, shaky friendships, or awkward living arrangements. No, those very important, very crucial details hadn't stood a chance in hell…not that night. Instead of thinking about how terrible the consequences could be of an action so irreversible…he had thrown caution to the wind and had kissed her.

See the thing is, Nick Miller doesn't consider the important things in life like relationships and feelings and consequences, not when he's finally set his sights on following through with something.

And kissing that girl, that goddamn conundrum of a girl, had been something that he's been thinking about since the moment she had stormed into his life and had pinned him with those damn Bambie size watery blue eyes of hers.

So he had kissed her. With every pent up and frustrating emotion he's been feeling for over a year and a half now. And who could blame him? No one in their right mind could point the finger entirely at him. She'd been prancing around in that frilly little bra and that ridiculous red skirt, tempting and teasing him for over half the night.

And dammit he had clearly told Holly to hold up TWO! A TWO! _A fucking two_ from her would have locked him behind the iron curtain with a hot blonde with questionable morals. But instead, like the naive and sometimes clueless flake she can be, _she_ had slapped those two fingers to her forehead and instead he had gotten the sweet, pouty, maddening girl he'd been trying so hard to avoid in exactly that way.

He can't help but wonder who the hell he had pissed off upstairs to have had to endure something so cruel and unfair.

And to make matters worse, she had taunted him through the night—urging him to get it over with, practically begging him to do it. _Just kiss me—s_ he had said huskily and his fucking cock had nearly stood to attention at her flippant words, agreeing with her wholeheartedly while something whispered softly to him in a desperate voice...

_No…not like this._

God he hadn't been aware he had fucking said it out loud...not at first. But when he had, when the realization of what he had let slip reached his panicked brain, it had been too late to take the words back. And the wide-eyed smirking look she had given him after...with that knowing gleam flashing in her eyes…

_Jesus Christ..._ he's only a man. He's never claimed to be anything great. He's never even claimed to be anything good. He's just a man.

So later, as she had wished him goodnight, giving him that soft smile that he swears to fucking God she only reserves for him…he had felt something inside of him snap…and he had kissed her.

To be fair, he had actually considered the repercussions for a few tumultuous seconds before he had went through with it—and in that short time he had prepared himself for the backlash. He had realized the risk he was taking and had expected a more than likely angry reaction from her.

A slap on the cheek, possibly a few biting words.

But the fucking crazy thing is...

She had kissed him back.

And it wasn't unsure or tentative. _No_. Hell, she had thrown her arms around him and had kissed him with a passion so fiery he's surprised that his lips aren't still burning with the scorching heat.

It had taken everything in him not to push her against the wall and tear that goddamn flimsy robe off her and fuck her until he made them both forget about why what they were doing was most likely a terrible terrible mistake.

But he had held back, because contrary to popular belief and his own dick's preferences among a bunch of other torrid and unwanted emotions…he does respect her.

And at the end of the day, stolen reciprocated kiss or not…she has a boyfriend.

And she deserves more from him than a quickie against a wall while attached to another.

Thinking back, he probably could have gotten over it—the whole fucking her while she was seeing someone else. But he's pretty sure what stopped him was knowing that _she_ wouldn't have been able to get over it. She'd never have let herself live it down.

She's good and pure and honest and everything he's not.

So he had stolen his one kiss and had left her in the hallway, mumbling some lame comment that probably didn't make much sense to her but had sounded right to him. And as he had closed the door he had hoped, hell he had prayed, that he would feel sated, relieved to finally have made his move.

Unfortunately for him…he's not a lucky guy.

Now that he's tasted her, he wants more. His hunger for her hasn't been satisfied. If anything he now realizes the extent of the sweetness he's been depriving himself of, for over the last eighteen months.

He's pretty sure someone upstairs definitely has it out for him.

It doesn't help that he lives with her…obviously it doesn't. Things are strained between them now. She had tried to talk to him the next day, but he had avoided her like the fucking plague. He's done his best to stay out of the apartment…leaving early and working extra hours at the bar. Tonight he even considered an attractive and decidedly drunk redhead's number as she slipped it to him with a sloppy smile he's sure she thought was seductive. It wouldn't have been the first time that he's fucked another girl while picturing glossy bangs and big blue eyes.

But now...now it felt wrong to consider it. Dirty. So instead he had politely smiled and respectfully declined.

Didn't stop the redhead from leaving him a shitty-ass tip though.

So now because his heart has too much control over his dick…he's left alone laying in his bed, waiting for the bright neon numbers of his bedside clock to change from 3:15 to 3:16 and wondering if she's with the good doctor. The masochist in him considers the successful and good-looking man, wondering if she's letting him put his hands on her…if he knows what she likes, what makes her tick. Does he know what makes her moan, what sends that pouty full mouth into the shape of an O while that raspy voice mumbles incoherent words.

Of course the doctors knows…he's been fucking her for months now.

He wonders if she'll ever allow _him_ to find out what makes her tick, what sets her off in a way that's completely different from shouting matches and wiggling asses. He has a feeling he could figure it out pretty quickly. They've always been in tune with each other, and while he's never claimed the title of an exceptional lover, with her he thinks it would be different, natural.

With her he'd just know.

But as the possibility of touching her crosses his mind, he almost laughs out loud into the mocking lonely darkness before even truly finishing the tempting thought. He probably lost his damn chance the night he kissed her in the hall.

He's pretty sure she would have let him touch her more though.

And he wishes he could hate himself for not following through with what the twitch in his pants had been begging him to do...it would make him feel like much more of a man—for being pissed off he hadn't taken the chance to fuck the pretty girl that lives across the hall.

But it's her and no matter how much every fiber of his being had screamed for him to take more...he can't regret walking away from her too much.

Because _that girl_ , that whimsical fairy creature—somewhere between the theme songs and tap dancing, the fights and tears, she somehow managed to make him go soft. Somehow she managed to go from the girl he begrudgingly tolerated to the most important goddamn person in his life.

So he's unable to fault himself too much for not taking full advantage of the situation.

Rolling over in bed, he closes his eyes, noting when a small shuffling sound in the hall stops in front of his door.

He ignores it, he's got more important things to think about than whoever is lurking in the hallway.

Even as his eyes peek open and he notices the shadow over the tiny crack of light that comes through the bottom of his door.

He still ignores it.

When his door opens though, it becomes harder to pretend that he's not curious and sitting up with his eyes fully open he watches as she appears in the doorway.

_Fuck him_ , she's wearing that goddamn robe.

The one he had wanted to tear off of her so badly over three nights ago.

As she closes the door behind her and the light from the hall quickly flees his room, his eyes try to focus on her willowy silhouette as it moves closer to him slowly.

He doesn't say anything.

He stays still, wondering if he's dreaming, if maybe he had slipped off to sleep during his late night musings.

When his mattress dips down with her weight as she climbs onto his bed, his heart stops before roaring to life, slamming against his chest painfully. She doesn't say anything though, doesn't explain her presence, doesn't ask if it's alright if she's there. She just pulls his covers back and slips underneath them and with a tiny sigh she lays down and turns towards him, facing him quietly. Although he can't completely make out her features, he can feel her bright gaze burning into him and he wonders what she's thinking, what the hell she's doing. He wants to ask her so badly, because maybe she's lost her mind...that's the only reasonable explanation anyway. But he keeps silent, because she's in his goddamn bed and if he opens his mouth maybe she'll remember where she is and leave him.

"I ended things exactly one night ago with Sam."

"Okay."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay."

She shifts closer to him and with the movement his nostrils are invaded by the sweet scent of strawberries.

"Will you hold me while we sleep?"

"Yes." He wonders if she even understood him, the one syllable word comes out so choked and ragged.

He thinks she smiles, he swears he sees a flash of white in the dark room, but then she's moving closer to him, and he doesn't really care what she's doing, just as long as she doesn't leave his bed. And as her head somehow finds its way onto his chest...he mentally has to scream for himself to relax...to not fuck up this moment. When she places a light hand on him and trails her fingers over the soft fabric of his thankfully clean white t-shirt, he jumps and scowling has to force himself not to tense any further.

"Put your arms around me Nicholas." Her whisper is unsure, and there's a slightly desperate note of pleading in her tone.

She has no reason to feel anxious though, he doesn't deny her...he's never been able to deny her anything. And without hesitation, he wraps his arms around her small frame, holding her tight.

They stay like that for awhile, neither talking, he holding her and she laying quietly in his arms.

Finally he feels as if he has to say something...it's almost as if something inside him feels compelled to ruin the moment. "Is this a terrible mistake?" he whispers into her fruit scented hair.

Seconds tick by slowly as he waits for her to answer, until finally she lets out a shuddering breath against his chest and snuggles even closer as her shoulders move with a tiny shrug.

"Sometimes those are the best kind of mistakes."

He's not sure he understands her answer.

But at the moment...he doesn't really care.


	2. Chapter 2

Lying in bed, he waits for her. Thinking about her. Of course, always thinking about her.

He had been trying to suppress any feelings and less than platonic thoughts of her for so damn long that now that the floodgates have opened, she's always in his head leaching away any thought that doesn't have to do with her.

It's been one week since the night she had slipped into his room.

Ten days since he kissed her.

One week since she had ended things with her more deserving doctor and had rested her head against his pounding chest, further securing her place in his unworthy heart...

Ten fucking days since he's tasted her.

After that first night that she had crept into his room...she's come to him every night since.

Sneaking in late, after the rest of the loft is sleeping, unaware of their new and unconventional arrangement.

They only hold each other and sleep.

He thinks that if she knew the fucking willpower it takes for him to keep his hands off her, she'd be impressed.

But he doesn't tell her this because he also thinks that admitting to something like that would probably make him a douche.

But _fuck him_ , having that soft and slim body lying next to him, almost on top of him—it's a goddamn torture of the worst kind. And he nearly shakes with anticipation waiting for the sweet pain to begin every night, positive that she's not going to show up, sure that _this_ will be the night that she comes to her senses.

But every night she comes and they hold each other for a few hours.

And every morning she leaves at 6:00 a.m.

Always 6:00 a.m.—before the rest of the loft wakes up.

He wishes she wouldn't...but he's too much of a pussy to ask her to stay.

It's no surprise that his shower routine has gotten longer.

He can't help it and he wonders if maybe he's a creep for jacking off with her face in mind, thinking about all the things he wishes he could gain the balls to do to her at night when she's nestled against him, silently tracing lines on his shirt or quietly going over her day.

He's desperate not to ruin their delicate routine though, so his neglected dick makes do with his right hand.

Besides, before the shift in their relationship, he used to jerk off thinking about her on a weekly basis. He's not fucking blind, and _good Christ_ has she seen herself? Still, it probably makes him a pervert for not having the discipline to control himself in that way.

Hell, obviously he has some self-control issues when it comes to her.

But he also knows for a fact that both Winston and Schmidt have thought about her before too...so he can't be all that bad.

And thinking about it now, knowing his other two roommates have pictured her, somehow that simple fact doesn't seem so harmless anymore. In fact, it kinda makes him want to lay them out—punching them in the face, while possessively yelling _MINE!_

And he knows he should probably be embarrassed by the knee-jerk reaction.

But he's not.

During the day they don't talk about how things have changed between them.

In fact, they are decidedly normal. Although he notices she finds more reasons to touch him. A brush of her hand here, a squeeze of his leg there.

They still bicker constantly though.

It's only been a week since she first came to him and ten days since he's kissed her. It's changed them, but it hasn't changed them _that_ much. He's pretty damn sure that it would take a small miracle to stop their daily squabbles.

She points out his character flaws and he takes it in stride reminding her that living with her head in the clouds isn't healthy, while advising her to grow up soon, knowing full well he's the last person in the world that should be giving advice about maturity.

She'll usually laugh during those conversations.

That damn husky laugh that makes him think of fucking rainbows and gumdrops while simultaneously has him picturing porcelain skin rising above him, blue eyes going wide, and that red lipped mouth opening on an O of surprise, while a similar husky sound ripples up from her throat.

She's got him so wrapped around her goddamn finger that sometimes he worries maybe he's gone _too soft._

The scales aren't really balanced. _  
_

But then, of course, almost as if to make a point, he proves once again that he's capable of hurting her, and not above being an absolute prick.

A couple days ago he picked an unnecessary fight with her.

Maybe it was the pent-up sexual frustration that has only intensified since kissing her and having her in his bed every night, only to never follow through with his fantasies of fucking her.

Or maybe he's just a dick.

He's really not exactly sure what it was.

To be completely honest the fight wasn't really different than some of the other blowouts they've had. He had snapped at her sarcastically, speaking to her more harshly than she had deserved. And, she had looked at him with enormous wounded eyes, obviously shocked by his bad behavior. But instead of feeling guilty, he had gotten angrier and had continued to prove to her what a dickhead he could be, all the while knowing he was playing with fire. Clearly upset by his attitude, she had yelled and had stomped her feet, screaming PG rated curses, while he, still unmoved, had shot painful retorts back, aiming to injure, for some reason needing to lash out. Until finally, with a toss of her hands and a quiver of lips, she had stalked out of the room.

They didn't speak for the rest of the day after that.

They had stepped around each other with anger and hurt lingering between them.

And later that night he had lain in bed, terrified that she wouldn't come, worried that finally he had gone and done it.

Nick Miller had finally fucked up the best thing he never had.

But she had come.

Wordlessly she had padded across his bedroom floor, and he had pulled back his blankets allowing her access to his bed—to his goddamn fucking heart. They didn't speak that night. They just laid next to each other side by side, barely touching, until finally on a sigh she had scooted closer and he had opened his arms. And when she had accepted his unspoken invitation, he had placed the chastest kiss he could manage on top of her strawberry scented hair, and the little sound of contentment that followed had his self control threatening to dissolve while simultaneously he had realized that maybe this thing they were doing wasn't as shaky and unsure as he had originally thought.

Maybe they were going to be okay.

His door creaks open and he glances up. He's left his bedside lamp on it's dimmest setting, a habit of his, since she had tripped over a misplaced shoe when sneaking in on the third night she'd come to his room.

As she settles in next to him, he waits for her to lay down, but for some reason she stays in a sitting position. Her nose wrinkles as if she smells something offensive, and he takes a whiff of the air around him, positive that he had done laundry earlier in the week.

"Why haven't you touched me?"

Her question surprises him, and he sits up in bed a little and stares at her hard, wondering if this is a test.

"Since the night you kissed me in the hall. You haven't touched me...not like that."

HA! He can almost hear his dick—mocking him, calling him out for being a little bitch while claiming to have known what she had really wanted all along.

"Do you want me to?" The conversation has the potential to get awkward, it's headed in that direction fast.

She shrugs a little and plays with her hands, letting out a small sigh, she nods, "Yes."

It comes out a whisper.

Fuck. Fuck. _FUCK!_

Does she know what she's asking him?

"Why haven't you?"

Staring into her eyes, the same ones he's never been able to say no to, he finds himself unable to look away and he wants to curse her out, this girl that makes him feel things that scare the fucking shit out of him. "I guess I'm afraid that once I start I won't be able to stop...even if you ask me to. I mean Jesus Christ Jess-"

But she cuts him off, and this time it's she who initiates the kiss. She flings herself at him, and while it takes him by surprise, and her knee kinda goes right into his gut making him wince in pain—she's fucking in his arms and her mouth is on his, and son of a bitch he forgot how sweet she tastes.

Her breathing is hitched and her hands are wrapped tightly around his neck, and as she pushes her body against his, he realizes that maybe now would be a good time to react. So he kisses her back. He kisses her with the same intensity and fierceness that he had kissed her with ten days ago. Only now there's a confidence there. Now he knows that while maybe the scales are still slightly unbalanced he's not in this thing alone.

He pushes her onto her back, careful not to rest too much of his body on her, not wanting to suffocate her with his weight. But she pushes her hips up towards him, grinding herself against him and he forgets about not wanting to crush her and just gives into the feeling of being on top of her.

Their breathing is heavy when they finally break away from each other and he doesn't take the time to check to see if its okay, if she's ready, before his clumsy fingers fumble with the buttons of her night shirt. He's impatient and hard as a fucking rock, because goddammit, he had told her that he was afraid he wouldn't be able to stop and she had kissed him.

She had kissed him.

So when her hands move up to his shaking fingers and she helps him with the tiny buttons that couldn't be any fucking smaller, he takes a moment to calm the fuck down because he's a thirty year old man and he really needs to stop acting like a sixteen-year-old kid who's about to lose his virginity.

His lips find her neck as she slips out of her shirt and at the contact she lets out this little moan that goes straight to his cock. He barely even has the chance to appreciate her half naked form before she's kicking her pants off and yanking at his. He takes the hint—thank God he hasn't gone completely brain dead by what's currently taking place in his bed and leaning back, he throws his shirt over his head and drags his boxers off fast. Naked above her, he tells himself not to be a fucking girl as he suddenly becomes aware of his body...who cares if he's a little less taunt around the middle than he's comfortable with.

But she doesn't seem to mind that he's not as fit as her doctor was, because she welcomes him back into her arms and he settles between her parted legs and they're kissing again. As her tongue slides over his and he swallows the minty sweet taste of her toothpaste, he thinks he could happily kiss her forever, but before the thought is fully finished his dick twitches a little, protesting the idea.

Raising his head from hers, he takes a moment to stare down at her, watching as her eyes flutter open to meet his. They hold each others stares for a second or two and he struggles in that short time not to just push into her and fuck her like he's wanted to since the time he found her naked in his room. Reaching over to the nightstand, he goes to grab a condom but she stops him in the act with a little shake of her head.

"Pill," she says by way of explanation and realizing that he'll get to experience her in that way, he's surprised he doesn't come then and there.

Instead he only nods, abandoning the idea of condoms.

"Is this a terrible mistake?" she whispers, as he settles between her legs again, repeating the words he had asked her a week ago.

He doesn't answer, just takes her mouth and kisses her once more and she responds enthusiastically, canting her hips up to meet his again while also shifting her body so that one leg is loosely wrapped around his waist. The feel of her pressing against his dick is too much, he needs to be inside her now and breaking their kiss again, he looks down at her and she holds his stare.

Her wide eyes practically beg him to do it.

So he does.

He pushes himself inside of her.

And _oh sweet Christ,_ why did they wait so long?

As she wraps around him, he's pretty sure he's never felt anything so fucking good. She jumps a little at the intrusion before letting out a choked little breathy laugh followed by a deep sigh. He begins to move. He wants to make it last, he really does want to go slow, but it's _her_ and there's no way in hell he's going to be able to last very long...not this time. She seems to be on the same page though, and pulls him to her hard, whispering something about _needing more_ followed by _harder_ and he couldn't fucking deny her if he tried.

He picks up his pace, pushing into her hard and fast and goddamn her little whimpers and breathy sighs are the hottest thing he's ever heard. Before, whenever he pictured fucking her, he'd always imagine she'd be loud and throaty— something right out of a goddamn porn or something. He imagines if they continue what they are doing, and he hopes to fucking God that they do, eventually they'll get comfortable enough to be more vocal. But right now, with the bed squeaking and their panting breaths, broken only by a tiny whimper from her or a muffled grunt from him...it's better than any fantasy he could have come up with.

When she tosses her head back and arches up towards him, driving him further into her, he grips her hips tight and losing what's left of his control, he fucks her even harder, unable to hold anything back, enjoying the way her mouth parts open each time he slams himself into her.

She still doesn't say much, not really. Occasionally she'll let a _yes, God yes,_ slip but other than that she's relatively silent, save for the tiny whimpers and gasping breaths. He tries to hold back too, but he can't help when a grunted _fuck_ passes his lips, because _Jesus_ she feels so damn tight and wet and unable to keep it to himself he tells her so, whispering it into her ear.

She seems to like that, and chokes something out about _coming_ and it takes everything in him to hold back and let her ride out her orgasm. She clenches him tight, and he watches as her teeth find her bottom lip and she draws it into her mouth, biting down on it while she struggles to remain quiet. When her nails dig into his back and a tiny cry escapes her throat, he can't stop himself from letting go. Mumbling another _fuck_ into her neck, he lets his own orgasm take over his body, shuddering and spurting into her, noting when she moans a little more with the action.

Physically spent, he groans a little as his arms begin to quiver with the effort of holding himself off of her and afraid he's going to collapse, he rolls away from her and onto his back. Breathing heavily, he looks up at the ceiling for a moment or two, trying to regain his breath, before glancing back over at her. She's staring at him, and he gives her a little smile and she smiles back.

Sitting up, he looks down and grabs a towel off the floor before handing it over to her. "Here," his mouth is dry, his voice hoarse. "It's clean," he tells her when she looks down at it questioningly.

He's not that much of a slob.

She smirks at that, and turning from him, cleans herself up quickly. When she faces him again, she's blushing and he thinks it's fucking adorable that she looks so shy and unsure. Grabbing the towel from her he throws it back on the floor, and grins at her when she sighs and rolls her eyes.

"Come here," he says, settling back onto the bed.

When she rests her head on his chest without hesitation and wraps her arms around him with a little affectionate squeeze, he knows without a fucking doubt that he's completely in love with this girl. He doesn't tell her though. It's not the right time. What he does do is place a kiss on her hair, while rubbing the small of her back, gently drawing little circles with his thumb.

It's all he can manage for tonight.

They don't talk...there's really nothing to say.

So rather than attempting mindless chatter, they fall asleep holding each other instead.

When he wakes up hours later, her head still snugly on his chest, he glances at his clock, surprised to see that it's well past the time she usually sneaks out of his room.

8:16 a.m.

If she had intended on keeping up with her routine, she should have left over two hours ago.

Their roommates are going to find out.

She moves a little, signaling she's awake too, and lifting her head, she glances over at the clock. He tenses slightly waiting for her to realize she overslept, and wonders if she's going to flip-out.

She doesn't.

Looking up at him, she smiles and places a soft kiss on his lips before resuming her position, laying sprawled across his chest.

"I don't care if they know," she whispers in a raspy morning voice.

And with those words, the self-doubt and worry that he had kept hidden away for the past week, slowly fades.

In its place is something hopeful.

Something new.

Something that tells him that this thing between them is probably not a terrible mistake at all.

Not even fucking close.

**Fin.**


End file.
